


The Answer

by CupcakeGirlA



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, BAMF Stiles, Choices, College, F/M, Growing Up, M/M, Magical Lydia Martin, Pack Dynamics, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, life and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeGirlA/pseuds/CupcakeGirlA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The difference between Stiles and everyone else in the pack, is that he’s human. Lydia’s human too, and so is Allison. But it’s not the same thing, not at all. Because Allison is some sort of pseudo hunter in training and could kick major ass even before she ever learned that werewolves existed. And Lydia is Lydia. She’s a genius, and she’s fearless. She’s been busting balls since approximately the third grade. Also she’s sort of a witch, even if she doesn’t like to talk about it. Stiles, however, is just Stiles. He’s just a guy. Just a very human guy. And he’s got a big mouth.</p><p>**Now with a graphic by foreverblue_navy**</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Answer

**Author's Note:**

> ** Written before Season 3A aired, not canon compliant with Season 3**
> 
> Thank you to Beth/foreverblue-navy for the wonderful (and fast) beta read. All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> *Update* Beth made me a graphic!! She spoils me rotten! Thanks so much to foreverblue_navy for the beta AND the graphic. <3

 

It’s the hardest thing Stiles has ever had to do. Physically and emotionally he’s not at the top of his game. What with being in the hospital after almost dying. Again. Objectively he knows that isn’t the time to make such a decision. Life altering, world shattering choices shouldn’t be made during moments of high stress, and definitely not under the influence of high quality intravenous pain medication.

But in the end he doesn’t feel he really has any other choice. Not anymore.

The difference between Stiles and everyone else in the pack, is that he’s human. Lydia’s human too, and so is Allison. But it’s not the same thing, not at all. Because Allison is some sort of pseudo hunter in training and could kick major ass even before she ever learned that werewolves existed. And Lydia is Lydia. She’s a genius, and she’s fearless. She’s been busting balls since approximately the third grade. Also she’s sort of a witch, sort of. But she doesn’t like to talk about it.

Stiles, however, is just Stiles. He’s just a guy. Just a very human guy. And he’s got a big mouth. Consequently he gets his ass kicked on a fairly regular basis. Yes, he can wield a baseball bat or lacrosse stick like a fiend. Yes, he’s held his own on more than one occasion. It was Stiles who took down the fairy ok? Regardless of what Jackson claimed later, that was all Stiles. But, mostly he’s good at research, at planning, tactics, and strategy, at figuring his way out of trouble, and helping Scott control his inner wolf. These are the things he contributes. And none of them change the fact that he is hands down, the weakest member of the pack physically. In the end it’s Stiles who keeps ending up in the hospital. It’s Stiles, who every stray werewolf, and warlock, and fucking poltergeist in a three county radius seems to choose to mess with first.

It’s Stiles who was kidnapped on seven separate occasions between Sophomore year and Senior. It’s Stiles’ who has lost the trust of his last remaining family member because pack business means lying to his dad on a pretty much daily basis. That’s obviously not exactly conducive to a good and healthy Father/Son relationship.

And it’s Stiles, who’s lying in the hospital bed, again. This time with four broken ribs, a broken arm, 32 stiches, blood loss requiring a transfusion, and a concussion. It’s Stiles who wakes up to his dad crying, begging him to stop, please just stop, whatever it is he’s been doing, just stop it. It’s Stiles who looks at his father, the man who has loved and raised him, who has lost so much in the last few years, and who he honestly doesn’t think would survive it if he lost Stiles too. So it’s Stiles who nods, open palm reaching for his dad’s hand; Stiles who puts his head back on the pillow, and agrees.

“I’ll stop. I will. I promise,” he whispers, voice hoarse. His dad nods, wiping at his face, and setting his jaw with determination.

“We’ll move away,” he suggests. And Stiles freezes. He doesn’t want to leave. This is home. He grew up here. Everyone he knows in the entire world is in Beacon Hills. It’s where he was born and where his mother is buried. But it’s also where the pack is, where the trouble happens. If he’s serious about this then he needs to leave. He nods.

“I got into Berkeley,” he whispers. He watches delight spread across his father’s face. Instant pride shining out of his tired red-rimmed eyes. “Got the letter two days ago.” His dad doesn’t ask why he hadn’t told him first thing. He knows why. Stiles wasn’t planning on going.

“Berkeley huh? The Golden Bears?” he asks instead. Stiles nods, ignoring the tears falling down his own face. “I bet they’re in need of more good cops down there, huh?” Stiles doesn’t know quite how to respond to that.

His dad agrees to stay until after graduation, but he makes Stiles promise: no more of whatever it is he’s been running around doing in the middle of the night. And Stiles nods his agreement. And so it’s decided.

Telling Scott is the hardest part. Because no matter what has gone down in the last 3 years, Scott has always been his best friend, his most important friend, and for a good number of years growing up, his only friend. And he loves Scott, as much as Stiles has ever loved anyone else in his entire life, except maybe his parents. Scott is like a brother in every way that counts, and leaving him, saying goodbye after graduation, that will be the hardest thing Stiles will have ever had to do.

He waits until he’s out of the hospital, settled in at home. The pack has been keeping their distance. Too many visitors, or visitors like Peter who is supposed to be missing, or Derek who always seems to be wanted for questioning in some way or another, would be impossible to explain away. Jackson, would just be confusing to anyone who knew them, the same for Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. They aren’t publicly friends. Not as far as the rest of Beacon Hills knows.

Lydia and Allison could visit, but they seem to be taking their cues from the rest of the pack on this one. And Scott, well he’s not so good with hospitals. He’s ok with them on principle, but if someone he cares about is there as a patient, it’s really hard for Scott to visit. Especially if he feels guilty. And Stiles knows that Scott is probably feeling guilty. Not that Stiles blames him. It was not Scott’s fault that Stiles got body slammed into concrete. It’s not Scott’s fault at all. That was really all the Cyclops’ fault. A fucking Cyclops!? Stiles shakes his head just thinking about it.

Stiles wonders if they had a little meeting about him while he was unconscious. In his doped up state the imagined meeting gets all twisted and hilarious in its awkwardness.

“Now listen up,” fake-Derek shouts, eyes all hooded with manly angst, “we have to do a better job of taking care of Stiles. That kid dives head first into danger at the drop of a hat. And if we want to have him around for much longer, we have got to start watching his back better! Ideas?” In Stiles’ head, this Derek talks with an accent that is somehow half growl, half drill sergeant.

“We could tag him,” fake-Jackson pipes up. Everyone turns to glare at him on Stiles’ behalf. “What? It’s just a suggestion. They do it to animals all the time, to track their movements in the wild.” Lydia, beautiful, gorgeous, brilliant, perfect Lydia rolls her eyes, and smirks at him.

“Simply tracking him wouldn’t work. How would we know when he’s in danger? We’d need some kind of GPS tracker with bio-feedback and a panic button incorporated into it. I could probably throw something together. Give me a couple of days,” she goes back to examining her make-up in a compact mirror.

Stiles laughs so hard at the idea of it that pain flares up his side and shoulder, and the nurse comes in to yell at him for making a ruckus. The incident almost makes them consider keeping him another night. Instead they send him home with a bottle of Vicodin, a cast, and orders for bed rest. His dad takes him home, helps him up to his room, and lets him sleep off the last of the morphine.

When Stiles wakes up Scott is sitting beside him, looking forlorn and sad and guilty. Stiles stares at him, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Scott says. Stiles shakes his head slowly.

“Don’t be. This isn’t your fault,” he looks away, letting his eyes travel around his bedroom, the bedroom that has always been his. He’s going to miss it. He’ll miss Scott more. Scott makes a sort of hurt puppy sound and Stiles eyes fly back to his face.

“I hate seeing you hurt. You need to stop getting hurt. I’m serious, Stiles, I can’t take this!” Stiles watches Scott stand up, and start pacing, hands on his hips. He looks agitated.

“Yeah, about that…” Stiles doesn’t know how to go on, doesn’t know how to say it. It turns out he doesn’t have too. Scott freezes in place, eyes going to the oversized bright yellow envelope sitting on top of Stiles’ desk. The words “Congratulations! Welcome to Berkeley!” are written in the schools signature blue across the front. The Cal symbol taking up one big corner of the envelope. The whole thing is really sort of tacky, and overly school-spirity. Scott picks it up, looking at the addresses printed in the corner and the middle, tracing one finger across the welcome message.

“You got into UC-Berkeley?” he asks, turning to look at Stiles, and the smile he’s wearing makes Stiles suck in a quick breath. He nods. “This is amazing, Stiles!” he replies. He brings the envelope over to the bed, and sits down gingerly on Stiles’ unharmed side. Stiles scoots over to make room, wincing at the movement, and they sit side by side backs pressed to the headboard. Scott curls one hand around Stiles right wrist, and Stiles eyes flutter shut as he leeches away the worst of the pain. When he drags his eyes back open Scott is still grinning, eyes focused on the envelope in his other hand.

“You’re not mad?” Stiles asks, voice sounding tired and sort of relieved. “That I’m leaving?” Scott shakes his head, but his smile turns a little more sad.

“No. I mean I’m going to miss you like crazy. You’ve been my best friend for like forever, this won’t change that, right?” he asks.

“No man. Of course not. I only applied on a whim. It was just to see if I could get in, you know?” Stiles says. Scott nods.

“And you did!” he grins brightly again, proudly. He flips the envelope over. “You haven’t opened it yet? Come on, do it now!” He hands the envelope over. Stiles takes it from him.

“Scott,” he shakes his head. “Scott, I need you to understand…”

“I do,” Scott says, and he sounds more serious and grown up than Stiles has probably ever heard him sound before. He smiles again. “I think you should go. You need to get away from all the craziness here,” he pauses. “You’re too smart to settle for Beacon Hills Community College,” he says softly. He doesn’t say, though Stiles knows, that BHCC is the only place he’s been accepted. Too many fights and break-ups and drama had taken their toll. He was graduating with a low B average, and really shitty SAT scores. He could have done so much better if things had been different.

“I just… can’t keep doing this,” Stiles says, and he feels his eyes fill with tears. He fights them back. But Scott can probably smell the salty tang of them in the air, can most definitely hear them in his voice. “I’m going to die, Scott. If this keeps up I’ll end up dead before I hit 20, and I can’t do that to my dad. I’m sorry.” He wipes at his eyes, with his right hand. Scott’s arms slides around his back, carefully curling around Stiles’ injured side.

“I’d rather my best friend be alive in Berkeley, then dead in Beacon Hills,” Scott replies. “We’ll see each other again, Stiles. It’s not the end of the world, ok?” Stiles nods. “You didn’t sign up for all this supernatural bullshit. You’re not a werewolf. You can get out, and I think you should.”

“You didn’t exactly sign up for all of this either!” Stiles objects. “Peter bit you, without your consent. And you’re my best friend. Helping you, trying to figure things out… that was always my thing,” he smiles a little crookedly.

“I know. And you have helped. Stiles I don’t think I’d have made it to Senior year without you. You’re the reason I can control it, that I’ve come to terms with what I am. You’re the reason I pulled my head out of my ass and joined Derek’s pack. And look at us now. We’re doing good. We’re a team now. A family, not just a pack. And you’ll always have a part of that. But it’s time to do something for yourself. You know... for a change!” he gets a short shocked laugh out of Stiles then. “Now open this up! I wanna read all about class schedules, and program requirements, and dorm life,” he grins again, and Stiles slumps against him, letting out a little sigh.

“I’m going to miss you more than anything else in this whole town,” Stiles says. Scott huffs a little.

“God, you’re such a sap! Be glad I can smell the drugs coming off of you or I’d be worried that concussion had knocked something loose in there,” his hand presses softly to the back of Stiles’ head. Stiles laughs, tearing into the envelope and pulling out the blue and gold folder emblazoned with a scenic photo of the school’s campus. They have a lot of stuff to go through, and he’s suddenly really glad Scott is there to go through it all with him.

For the pack, he decides to ease them into it. He tells them he needs some time. With the injuries, the missed school, his final final exams coming up, he just can’t be running around throwing himself into danger at the drop of a hat anymore. Most of them understand. Jackson sort of rolls his eyes a little, and Erica makes a smart comment about breaking up with them, and not cheating on them with another pack until they can make up again. Stiles rolls his eyes, and tells them the truth.

“Like there could possibly be another pack out there for me,” he smirks at them and the next thing he knows they’re having some kind of impromptu puppy pile and Derek is shaking his head at them all, not looking the least bit amused.

“Must I remind you, he’s only two weeks out of the hospital. He still has broken bones for God’s sake,” he complains, tugging first Boyd and then Scott off the pile.

Spring semester starts, and Scott keeps him up to date with pack happenings. He’s skipping most of the meetings, focusing on school, and trying to convince his dad not to move to San Francisco. He doesn’t want to be the reason his dad is once again unemployed. And a little selfishly, he doesn’t want to lose Beacon Hills. If his dad moves away, he’s afraid he’ll never have reason to come back again. So yes, he’s still in the know, so he’s heard about the witches coven who have sprung up in San Pedro. He knows they’ve been causing problems for their resident wolf pack. They’d started springing traps in the woods. They had started off as a minor nuisance, (one had snagged Boyd the week before and he’d had to wait hanging upside down from a tree for over an hour for Erica to come find him.), but it was also quickly escalating.

The hunters had decided to stay out of the whole mess. Stiles secretly thought maybe they found it amusing, that a bunch of humans, mostly young women at that, were causing so much chaos for the big bad werewolf pack. And Stiles is man enough to admit that he found it sort of amusing too. At first.

But then the traps got meaner, more… dangerous. Jackson got stuck in one that had some kind of magical backlash that knocked him unconscious. He didn’t wake up for almost four hours. Four hours! Erica got caught in one, and it threw her back so forcefully, the hit from where she impacted a tree nearly tore her arm clean off. She’d healed, but it had taken a while, and the pain had been pretty spectacularly bad.

But Stiles had held firm. He offered advice where he could, did research from the safety of his bedroom, and warned them all to be careful, but he didn’t go into the woods. He didn’t get involved. Even if his dad did start eyeing him suspiciously every time his cell phone rang and instead of answering it there, he left the room. Each time he offered what he could over the phone, and then returned to the dinner table, or the couch in front of the TV, making sure not to leave his father’s sight for at least an hour or two as reassurance. It’s exhausting, not helping, almost as much as it was to be out there ramped up on adrenaline in the thick of it, and then quickly crashing once it was over. But at least this way he’s not the one getting thrown into trees.

But of course it gets to the point where he has to choose. Help them, physically in person, or read in the paper the next day that half the lacrosse team was found dead in the woods. His father is not amused.

“You don’t have to come,” Stiles says as he climbs into the jeep. “This isn’t like before.” His father glares at him.

“I’m not an idiot, Stiles. This is exactly like before. And I thought we were past the lying. I’ve been ok with you keeping your secrets, but I thought we’d agreed on no more lying.” It has the desired effect. Stiles bows his head in shame, and nods.

“Fine. But don’t interfere, and remember when you have questions, and you will have questions, that I will answer them all later. Once the crisis is over, ok?” he asks. His father grimaces and nods. “Oh, and stay in the jeep, I had it magically protected about a year ago. Nothing can touch it or you,” he says, slamming the car into drive and peeling away from the curve.

“Magic?” his dad asks in confusion.

“What did I say about questions?” he asks, reaching for his phone. He dials Scott’s number, hitting speakerphone. Driving and cellphones, not a good combo with the sheriff in the car, even if it will likely spill a bunch of secrets in the process. He’d been on the verge of telling his dad everything for weeks now anyway.

“I’m on my way. Where are you?” he asks as soon as Scott picks up.

“I wish you didn’t have to come,” Scott says quietly, sounding guilty, and Stiles knows he means it.

“Yeah, yeah. Just tell me where you are, you fucking idiot. I’m already on my way.”

“Ok, you know that clearing about a half mile from the house? The one where we took down that Siren?” Scott asks. Stiles spares a glance at his dad. ‘Siren?!’ the older man mouths, and Stiles grins at him, quickly looking back to the road.

“Yeah,” Stiles responds, heading toward the North side of town.

“Well… we’re there. They were waiting for us. They threw some potion or something into Allison’s face. She’s completely knocked out,” Scott’s voice hitches there, and Stiles frowns. “But Lydia says she’ll be fine. We’re all here, but they managed to line the whole clearing with mountain ash and salt, so Lydia is as powerless as we all are. You’re the only one we could call,” and he whines a little at that, which makes Stiles roll his eyes.

“Yes, call the pesky human, when everyone else is felled by the witches coven. I’m like 20 minutes out, so hold tight. I’ll be there soon. Do you need anything for Allison?” he asks. Scott sighs from the other end of the line.

“Lydia thinks she’ll probably sleep until we get the anecdote, which apparently is super easy, and will take only like 5 minutes to brew. All she needs is a pot, some stream water, a camp stove, and a couple things from the spice aisle of your typical grocery store.” There’s an affronted shout from the other end of the line, and the sound of the phone being wrestled away.

“I have everything we need in my car. As soon as I can *get* to my car, I can have Allison up and kicking ass again in under 10 minutes. It’s just this stupid salt barrier,” Stiles can practically hear the pout in her voice.

“Ah, fair Lydia, my sweet sorceress, how lovely to talk to you. Keep the puppies from doing anything stupid for another,” he checks the street signs as they go by, “13 ½ minutes. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, Stiles. You’re the best,” she says sweetly, and there’s a level of affection in her voice he’d have killed to hear two years ago, that he revels in now for wholly different reasons. “They left to go get their leader, apparently their cheap ass cell provider gets shit reception in the woods. But they could be on their way back. Be careful.” She says goodbye and ends the call and Stiles is abruptly reminded that his dad is sitting beside him in the close confines of the car.

“Witches, sirens, potions, magic and sorcery…” he trails off, eyes straight ahead. “This is big, isn’t it?” he asks. Stiles nods.

“Sort of huge actually,” Stiles offers, and lets his dad ponder. After a few minutes he hast to break the silence. “Hey, at least I’m not in a gang, running a drug smuggling operation, or involved in an underage sex trafficking ring.”

“That’s not helping, Stiles,” his father replies, eyes on the road ahead of them.

Stiles pulls the car to a stop in front of the newly renovated Hale House, unbuckling his seat belt, and scoffing when his dad gets out of the car.

“Dad, I told you to stay in the car!” he says, lowering the hatch on the back of the jeep, and pulling up the carpeting. He’d retrofitted the back of his precious car a year or so before. His dad’s eyes go wide as he stares down at the various paraphernalia hidden neatly under an unassuming toolbox and a grungy sleeping bag. There’s several different lengths of chain, his “emergency magic kit” designed by Lydia, several lengths of mountain ash, 3 bags of road salt, and a machete. Stiles snatches up the baseball bat, and a bag of road salt. He hands the bag to his dad, wary of carrying it so far. He’s still recovering from his broken arm, and even though the cast is gone, he’s not quite up to full strength on that side yet.

“Fine. Carry this. And pretend like none of this is a surprise. You follow my lead, and no matter what lie I tell, you have to back me up. Ok?” he says. His father looks at him incredulously, one eyebrow raised before nodding.

“Just what have you gotten yourself mixed up in, Stiles?” his dad asks quietly. Stiles’ shoulders slumped.

“I will tell you, everything, just not right now. Ok?” he asks. His dad pulls him close by the front of his hoodie and gives him a one armed hug.

“I want pizza, with pepperoni and sausage for dinner,” he bargains. Stiles laughs.

“Sure, like that’s gonna happen. Now come on, before the witches get back.” He pulls away from his dad, suddenly irrationally glad his dad hadn’t had the chance to change out of his uniform before chasing after Stiles. He still has his gun holster on. That could only be helpful.

They’re almost to the clearing when Stiles hears a low warning howl, and his cellphone vibrates. He reaches out with one hand to stop his dad’s forward progress, yanking the phone from his pocket. He has a text from Lydia.

Hurry. D says they could be back at any time.

“Ok. Ok.” he says, sending his dad an apologetic shrug. “They’re probably on their way back. We should hurry,” he says, taking off at a jog. They’re lucky, he thinks, that it’s spring, and the days are getting a little longer. It’s not quite dusk yet. Hopefully they’ll be out of the woods before darkness falls. But, knowing how things usually go they probably won’t be.

The group is easy to spot. Erika, Jackson, and Boyd are pacing the perimeter, their anger obvious. Derek stands right at the edge of the barrier, arms folded across his chest, eyes trained on Stiles and his dad as they approach. Scott sits a few feet back, Allison’s head cradled in his lap, Isaac crouched next to him talking in low tones. They all look up as Stiles and his dad stumble into the clearing. Lydia climbs to her feet too. She’d been seated near Allison’s feet, a book on, no lie, herbology, open in her lap.

“Oh good. You finally got here. Will you break the circle, please, so we can go home?” she asks, straightening the line of her skirt, and smirking. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Not even a ‘hi, nice to see you.’ Or how about a ‘thank you Stiles for trooping through the woods to save our asses from the coven of meddling witches’?” he asks. No one says anything, but Scott laughs, so Stiles just smirks at them all and moves forward. For now he ignores his dad’s appraising glances, and Derek’s silent watchful gaze. He kneels down by the edge of the barrier.

It’s a simple barrier really, mountain ash and salt. Not hard to break.

“Just salt and mountain ash?” he asks just to be sure. He looks to Derek who nods.

“We saw them putting it down, masked their scent with some sort of spell or potion. We didn’t see or hear them waiting. As soon as we crossed this tree line,” he uncrosses his arms to motion with one hand to two widely spaced trees, “they closed in behind us. Within seconds they had closed the gap with ash. By the time we realized what was happening, they’d followed it with the salt.” His explanation makes Stiles frown.

“The rest of the circle was already in place. How did they get you to cross here?” he asks, looking around the area.

“Come on, Stiles! Just break the line so we can go already,” Jackson snaps, because even now he can still be a douche from time to time. Stiles rolls his eyes, wandering a few feet away.

“Not until I know you won’t be stumbling into another trap,” he calls back, eyes searching the trees surrounding them. “Huh,” he says, noticing a strange symbol scribbled into a tree to the left. “They herded you,” he calls back. His dad steps up behind him, eyes squinting at the strange marking.

“What is that?” he asks. Stiles shrugs.

“A rune,” he replies. He hears Lydia grumble, digging in her bag for a different book.

“A rune of course,” she sneers, angry at herself for not noticing it earlier. She pulls a warn, leather bound book out of her purse, flipping through the pages, stepping as close to the edge of the circle as she can. She studies the nearest tree, the one marking the right-hand side of the trap. “There!” she says, triumphant. “He’s right. They herded us right where they wanted us to be!” She glances back at the book, speed reading. “We should be ok, if we backtrack out the way we came in,” she decides, turning to look at Derek. His jaw tightens but he nods.

“Stiles,” he says, grabbing Stiles attention back to the problem at hand. “The circle?” he says, pointing down. Stiles wrinkles his nose, but kneels back down at the circle’s edge.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” a voice calls out. Stiles startles, nearly falling over, but his dad grabs him by the back of his hoodie, quickly straightening him. Stiles stands, stepping between his dad and the woman who’s suddenly appeared. She’s in her mid-forties, with blonde hair just starting to turn silver at the temples, and angry blue eyes. He tries not to smirk at the long velvet hooded cloak she’s wearing. So cliché. She’s flanked on either side by 3 other witches, 4 girls, 2 boys total. All of whom appear to be in their teens, early 20s. And most of them are dressed like they just stepped out of The Craft. Stiles crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m afraid what you would do isn’t really an issue here. Right now you’re trespassing on private property, you’re also guilty of wrongful imprisonment, assault, and kidnapping underage teenagers. That’s a lot of no-no’s for one afternoons work. So I suggest you leave now. And I wouldn’t come back if I were *you*,” he replies. She smirks, actually smirks at him.

“And why should we listen to you? The boy who runs around the woods with murderous werewolves, and an untrained sorceress?” she asks, stepping closer. That’s when Stiles hears his dad flick off the safety of his gun. His eyes flick in that direction and his dad has the gun up, pointed at the woman, eyes hard, and angry.

“Why don’t you listen to me, then? I am Sheriff of this county. And everything that *boy* said happens to be true. You have no business on Hale land. You have no business holding a bunch of teenagers hostage. Leave now, or I will be forced to take action against you.” The woman’s eyes gleam as she looks at Stiles’ dad.

“Sheriff huh?” she asks. Stiles’ dad motions to the uniform, cocking his head at her.

“They don’t just hand out badges, uniforms, and guns to just anyone.” Stiles really had come by the sarcasm honestly. Her mouth tightens.

“You’d really shoot a defenseless unarmed citizen?” she asks, stepping closer yet again. His finger tightens on the trigger.

“Oh, I sincerely doubt you’re either unarmed or defenseless. And I’m beginning to doubt you are even a citizen of this county.”

“Interesting. We knew the wolves had taken over Beacon Hills, we didn’t know they’d corrupted the local police force. This complicates things,” she says sounding perturbed.

“Taken over?” Stiles asks. “We haven’t taken over anything. We were almost all born and raised here. And this pack doesn’t rule Beacon Hills, we defend it!”

“Defense? Is that what they call murder and mayhem these days? Tsk Tsk,” she says, shaking her head. “More people have been killed in Beacon Hills in the last three years, than in the proceeding ten. And most of those deaths? Random vicious animal attacks? I don’t think so,” she smirks.

“I think you’ve got your facts wrong, Lady! No member of this pack has been responsible for a single human death,” Stiles replies. His wording is carefully chosen. Because he knows, that Jackson has killed humans, but it had not been his fault, or his responsibility. “We’ve done nothing but defend this town against a dozen different threats. Lizard people, Fairies, rogue hunters, Sirens, a Cyclops, even a freaking Big Foot. A BIG FOOT!” Stiles replies. “Not to mention the Alpha pack of werewolves who moved in and tried to take over. If you want to go after a pack of murderous bastards, than go after them. Oh wait you can’t! Because we stopped them. The only one of them to survive fled from Beacon Hills over a year ago, missing a limb!” Stiles shouts. “They’re the ones going around slaughtering the citizens of this town. And we’re the ones stopping them. Each and every one of them. Where were you witches then? Huh? What did you do to stop the supernatural from taking over the town? You were nowhere to be found! Too busy chanting and communing with the Goddess!” He watches her eyes narrow.

“You know nothing of us!” she says with a scowl.

“You know nothing of us!” he retorts. “You come into our territory, our town, you assume we’re all evil, that we deserve to be what? Put down? And you think it’s your job to do it?” he asks. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe we’re the good guys here? That we’re doing the best we can in a difficult situation? No, of course not. Better to just come in and start booby-trapping OUR land. Hurting our people! You’re no better than the Hunters!” he sneers. She flinches. He makes a mental note to apologize to Allison for that one line later, even though she’s still unconscious. He knows better.

“We’re not Hunters!” one of the boys shouts, stepping up beside the woman.

“Oh, no?” Stiles asks. “You come in the night, assuming all these werewolves and their human pack mates are evil. You treat us like vermin that needs to be exterminated. You don’t talk to us. You don’t let us defend ourselves. You just start attacking with no proof! At least Hunters have The Code. Instead you’re acting as judge, jury, and executioner!” He gasps through the words.

“Stiles,” the command in the word has Stiles whirling around to face Derek. Derek’s watching him with a strange expression. “Breathe,” he orders. Stiles sucks in a deep breath, and it’s only then that he feels how hard his heart his thumping in his chest, how tight his lungs feel, how hard it is to get in air. His dad’s there a second later, wrapping an arm around his waist to help support him, but not dropping the gun from its raised position. Stiles hates this, hates feeling weak, especially in front of these witches, these trespassers in their territory.

“Breathe, Stiles. Just take deep breaths. You can do it. Breathe,” his father whispers, voice close to his ear, and Stiles nods, his vision greying around the edges. His father lowers him down to the ground. Stiles uses the movement as a distraction, kicking out with one heel he breaks the line of ash and salt containing the pack. Lydia’s by his side in an instant, the other witches scrambling away backward from the line eyeing the pack warily.

“Stiles?” Lydia asks, pressing a hand to his chest. He gasps up at her, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. She presses a hand to his chest, murmuring something softly. The tightness eases, his heart rate slowing, but his mind is unaffected. The panic which had crept up slowly is still spinning through his brain at breakneck speed. But it helps being able to breathe again. It takes away the fear that he’s going to pass out. That he’s going to die. The slower heart rate stops the racing of adrenaline in his veins. And he starts to calm. He’s so out of practice at this shit.

“Scott, Jackson, get Allison back to the house.” Derek orders. Stiles blinks his eyes open, and he watches Scott scoop up Allison, Jackson helping him settle her weight more comfortably. Scott’s eyes meet Stiles’, checking on him and Stiles nods, more of a tilt of the head than anything else. He’s fine.

“I can stay,” Jackson says. Derek’s frown deepens.

“I said go,” Derek orders. Jackson nods, stepping purposefully over the broken line of mountain ash and salt.

“Lydia?” he says, stopping between her and the witches. She rolls her eyes.

“I’ll be along in a minute, Jacks. Just go,” she orders. He makes an irritated sound, but nods toward Scott, and the two of them take off at a fast pace back the way they’d come. Isaac comes to stand behind Stiles and Lydia, his eyes trained on the witches over their heads. Stiles doesn’t miss the way Erica and Boyd move to flank Derek, all of them crossing what’s left of the line, freeing themselves from the trap.

“You haven’t done any irreparable damage to my pack. Be thankful for that. We’re willing to let bygones be bygones but only if you leave our territory and do not return,” Derek says, and he crosses his arms over his chest again, moving nonchalantly to put himself and his two most ferocious betas between Stiles, still taking deep calming breaths, and the interlopers. The leader of the coven nods though her face is twisted.

“We’ll steer clear of Beacon Hills. If you and yours stay clear of San Pedro,” she orders. Derek nods.

“If one of your coven has legitimate business here in Beacon Hills they will be allowed entrance as long as we’re forewarned. I’d hope we’d be given the same courtesy in San Pedro,” Derek offers. The woman’s eyes narrow, but she lifts her head and nods her agreement. “Good. Remove your traps as you leave,” he turns his back on her, squatting down in front of Stiles. “Can you stand?” he asks. Stiles nods, swallowing thickly, and lets Derek pull him to his feet, Lydia following a half second behind. Stiles’ dad is a second slower, knees creaking. He still has his gun out, and he’s watching the witches, as they go from tree to tree, blurring out the runes they’d put there using clothes dripping with something that smells herbal and pungent.

“Dad,” Stiles says, tugging on his sleeve. His dad turns around, and he looks pale, tired, ancient. “Come on,” he urges. Derek keeps one hand on Stiles’ shoulder, as they start to walk, one ear poised to listen for action from the witches, or a hitch in Stiles’ heartbeat indicating a renewed panic attack. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac bring up the rear. It really says something that Derek trusts them to watch his back like that. They’d come a long way in the last two and a half years.

Jackson is waiting on the front porch when the group of them appear, Lydia’s bag sitting at his feet. Lydia rushes forward, scooping it up and muttering under her breath about idiots, and mud on her new boots.

“Allison?” Stiles asks. Jackson shrugs.

“Still out cold. But Lydia will fix it,” he offers, disappearing inside after her. Stiles slumps to lean against the front of his jeep.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Derek says, voice low, but not angry. For some reason, Stiles has been expecting angry. “I didn’t expect you to come.” Stiles shrugs, watching Erica, Isaac, and Boyd fan out across the perimeter, all standing unnaturally still, focused completely outward. They really have been acting more like a pack lately. Derek hadn’t even had to tell them to watch and listen for the witches activities as they presumably leave. Stiles looks back at Derek.

“I’m not staying away because I don’t care,” he replies, and he’s aware of his dad listening from only a few feet away, still waiting patiently for his answers. “I have to...” Derek cuts him off, raising an eyebrow, and smirking just a little.

“I know what you’re doing. I know why. You don’t have to explain it to me. But I need you to understand something,” he sounds serious, like this is a very important something he needs to say. Stiles nods, and for once doesn’t crack a joke about everything being serious when Derek’s involved. “You can leave the pack,” Derek says, and Stiles starts, because he doesn’t want too, not really, but he knows that’s effectively what he’s done, “but the pack will never really leave you.” Stiles blinks at him in astonishment.

“Seriously? Are you getting sentimental in your old age? Really? Platitudes? That’s what you’re resorting too now?” he asks, and he hears his dad snort in amusement behind him. Derek gives him a look.

“I’m not joking here, Stiles,” he says, his eyebrows drawing together, and if Stiles weren’t fresh off a panic attack, and already anxious about the coming conversation with his dad, he’d probably laugh at the expression on Derek’s face just then. He straightens his shoulders instead.

“Ok, ok! I’m listening. Intently. My listening ears are on, and the volume is turned up,” he says shaking out his hands. They’re a little numb. It will pass. Derek’s eyes narrow.

“Are you done?” he asks. Stiles nods, frowning in reaction. He mimes zipping his lips. Derek squints at him and Stiles can see Derek mentally rolling his eyes. He honestly can. He can almost physically feel him doing it. “Good. Now I need you to understand this. So listen carefully. You can leave the pack. You can go to Berkeley. You can make new friends. I don’t begrudge you an education, or a future of your own choosing, but I need you to realize that none of it changes anything. You are still one of us. If you run into trouble, we’ll be there. All you need to do is call.”

“I’m not going to run into supernatural trouble in Berkeley, the Nexus lives under a manor house way across the bay in San Francisco.” Derek does not smile, but he hears Erica give a bark of laughter from the edge of yard. Derek looks at him, suddenly vaguely menacing. “Sorry. Really! I’m sorry. I’m listening, I swear. No more jokes.” He puts his hands up in a defensive gesture. Derek looks away, his jaw clenching before he looks back again.

“I just want you to know that I’m ok with this, your leaving. I get it. I’m not about to make Scott choose between you and the Pack, or ban any of them from contact with you or anything stupid like that. You’re still part of this. We probably won’t tell you everything, because really you won’t need to know every little thing going on here, but I’m not going to suddenly black list you or something equally juvenile. You aren’t breaking up with us. Thank you for coming tonight. I’ll understand if next time you don’t.” Derek studies his face for a moment, and Stiles has to look away, because that had all hit a little too close to home. He’d been terrified of the possibility of being kicked to the curb completely. Of losing them all when he broke away, losing Scott, yes, but really all of them. It is a bit like a gaping hole in his chest that he hadn’t even been aware of has just instantly been healed over. Because Derek doesn’t lie. Not to pack. Not about stuff like this. He means it or he doesn’t say it. He really does understand. He really gets it, and he’s ok with it. He wants Stiles to do well. Stiles is not losing them. Not any of them. He practically has the Alpha’s blessing.

He blames the adrenaline rush, and the blinding overwhelming relief for what he does next. Because Derek is not a hugger, and Stiles knows that, but suddenly he doesn’t care. He flings himself at Derek’s chest, arms wrapping around his shoulders, and face burying itself in Derek’s dirty shoulder. Derek hesitates only a second before wrapping his arms around Stiles to, and Stiles lets himself slump against him, going limp.

“You’ll take care of them?” he asks, whispering as quietly as he can. He feels Derek’s hands flex against his back, and the miniscule nod of his head against his ear. “You’ll call me if you really need me? If there’s no other choice?” he asks. Derek tenses, but he doesn’t nod, and so Stiles pulls back to look at him. “Promise me,” he says louder. “If it’s necessary,” he grinds out, through gritted teeth. Derek’s eyes seem to search his face before he nods.

“Yes. I promise,” Stiles nods too, dropping his arms and stepping back. Just then there’s a shout and a crash from the house, and Stiles jumps in reaction, but Derek shakes his head, laughing. It’s one of the rare ones, the kind that only the pack can draw out, one that’s pure amusement.

“It’s fine. Allison’s awake. She punched Jackson,” he explains. Stiles stares toward the house.

“What? Why?” he asks. Derek puckers his mouth like he’s trying not to laugh again.

“He was leaning over her face when she woke up. She thought he’d been giving her mouth to mouth resuscitation,” he explains. Stiles feels a smirk sliding onto his own face.

“Score one more for the pack humans,” he says quietly. His amusement disappears when he hears his father clear his throat pointedly. Stiles glances his way and his shoulders slump. “Let me run in and check on Allison and Scott, and we’ll get going. We’ll hit Lorenzo’s on the way back?” he suggests. His dad nods, taking that for the peace offering it obviously is. Stiles turns, jogging for the house. He finds Allison sitting on the couch of the living room, Scott half wrapped around her, Lydia stands at the side table, digging through her bags, holding up half empty bottles of one ingredient after another.

“Jackson, we’re going to the home and garden store tomorrow. I don’t want to run out of dried Lamb’s Ear,” she says. Jackson makes a face.

“Can’t you just call it Lambari like everyone else?” he asks. She frowns.

“Either Lamb’s Ear or Stachys Byzantina. Take your pick,” she shoots back, with a raised eyebrow. Stiles shakes his head, sure some part of him will always love Lydia Martin. There is definitely no hope he’ll ever get completely over her. Not really. He sits down on the couch on Allison’s other side.

“You ok?” he asks. She smiles at him, nods her head.

“I’m ok. A bit of a headache, but it’s not bad, and Lydia says it’s just a little magic backwash. Should be gone soon. I heard you kicked ass while I was out,” she teases. He preens a little.

“I kicked ass with my words alone. There were no actual asses kicked in the process. I kind of said some nasty stuff about hunters. Sorry about that,” he offers. She waves him away, rolling her eyes.

“Forget about it. I don’t hold my family responsible for all hunters everywhere, and I know you don’t hold me responsible for my family in particular, so no harm done. Especially if it gets a bunch of witches out of our hair for a while,” she reasons. He leans closer, bumping his shoulder gently to hers.

“Feel better? I have to go home and have a long overdue discussion with my dad,” he explains. She frowns at him in sympathy.

“Of course. Good luck with that. We’ll see you on Monday right?” she asks. He grins.

“Bright and early,” he looks at Scott.

“I can come over later, to help you explain, if you want,” Scott offers. Stiles shakes his head.

“I don’t think it’d really help all that much. But if you could tell your mom he knows now, warn her that he might be calling sometime soon to compare notes?” he asks. Scott nods.

“If you’re sure. Call or text me later to talk?” Scott says. Stiles shrugs pulling himself back to his feet.

“Yep! Later!” he calls back to them both, walking across the newly decorated living room toward the front door once more. He pauses at Lydia, where she’s concentrating on stuffing things back into her bag. It’s organized chaos, that bag, but she always seems to know exactly where everything is at a moment’s notice. Stiles touches her shoulder gently. “Thanks,” he says softly. She looks over her shoulder at him, a pretty pout on her mouth, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t make it a habit,” she says, turning away without another word. He nods at Jackson, who nods back, eyes still carefully glued to Lydia, as if afraid she’ll disappear. Stiles leaves the house. He makes his father drive them home.

The conversation that follows takes hours. There’s much rehashing of previous supernatural happenings. Seriously, old case files get pulled out and various factoids get filled in. His dad is left staring at the notes he’s taken in horror filled bewilderment.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles say, shaking his head. “I never wanted to lie to you. I just,” he sighs. “It wasn’t my secret to tell, and I had to help them. It’s Scott and Lydia, and…” he trails off, closing his eyes briefly. He scrubs a hand over his head, where his hair is starting to grow out again already. He blinks his eyes open and his dad is looking at him and he looks proud and scared and amused all at once. “They’re pack, Dad. It’s closer than friends. It’s more like family than anything else. They needed me.” His dad nods.

“No more lies. Promise me,” he says and Stiles nods.

“Yes. No more lies. I promise!” Stiles replies. His dad rubs at his forehead, leaning back in his chair and groaning.

“I know why you couldn’t tell me. I know why for a while there you became a stranger. I get it. But you’re my son, and it’s my job to get you successfully into adulthood, without you being mauled to death or killed by a fucking Cyclopes. You get me, kid?” Stiles nods. “Good, so no more front line fighting. You can research. You can help them plan, but I want to know when something is going down in this town that affects the police force, or the safety of the citizens. I need to know. I can help them in that regard. Tell them what I know, keep my guys out of their way. But I need Derek, he’s the alpha right?” Stiles nods again, “I need Derek to communicate with me. Let me know if something is his business rather than criminal business. I’m not so stubborn as to believe I need to be involved in everything, but Stiles,” he shakes his head again, “I’d really rather not have myself and my guys going into a situation they are woefully unprepared to face. And I definitely don’t want my entire night shift slaughtered again, ok?” he stands up then, and Stiles doesn’t even blink as he reaches for the whiskey. It’s a lot to take in. Years of danger, and lies, and death all explained in one admittedly long conversation.

“You should probably burn those notes, just to be on the safe side,” Stiles says a few minutes later when his dad has finished a finger of whiskey, and has sat down at the table once more.

“I will. No use leaving evidence lying around. Just let me go over it all one more time,” he picks up the piles of papers, flipping through it with a practiced hand. Stiles scratches at the back of his neck, and leans forward.

“I’m still going to Berkeley,” he says. He means for it to be reassuring, but his dad looks at him with suspicious eyes.

“Damn right you are. I want you away from here, Stiles. At least until you’re done with school. When you’ve graduated I won’t have a say if you want to come back here, but for now I want you safe. Capiche?” Stiles smiles at him and nods. “But I think you might be right about one thing,” his dad adds. “I don’t think I can go with you.”

The words are meant to be make Stiles feel better. And they do. It’s good to know if he’s not there to get the pack out of trouble that his dad will be. But it also fills Stiles with a new type of fear. The only thing that had protected his dad from the worst of the trouble the past few years, was being in the dark. Now that he knows…

“You’ll be careful?” Stiles asks. His dad gives him a look, one with so much meaning and exasperation behind it that Stiles already knows the answer.

“I’m a Stilinski. We’re always careful.”

Somehow Stiles doesn’t find that particularly reassuring.

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be the first in a series of connected short stories, about Stiles leaving the pack for school and eventually returning. The series was going to lead into Sterek. I'm not sure if it will be written though, so I decided to go ahead and post now. The series was to be called "The Joys and Pains of Being Human." We'll see if I decide to write it.


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